Academia Nut wrote:Mwahahaha! I knew it was out there somewhere, and I found it. This is where I got the idea from. Man have I been waiting to do something like this for a long time.
That thread, interestingly enough, spawned the 150-page Inquisitor RPG, which I read with much interest 'back in the day.' 'Twas my first great introduction to the wonderful world of Warhammer 40k.
I still think this chapter was hilarious. More tongue-in-cheek comedy and surfer Marines, I say! The masses demand it!
"There is a high statistical probability of death by gunshot. A punch to the face is also likely." - Legion
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
Well... I don't mean to tip my hand too soon, but their story is pretty much destined to end in tragedy because of two simple words:
Black Ships
Of course, when those ships arrive and thus the amount of emotional damage they cause is one of those things that makes authors evil
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
I sometimes wonder about the Black Ships. They seem like a hugely inefficent enterprise, taking all those psychers to one planet. It might be easier just to use Battlebarge sized ships that take the sorting and training facilities with them. I mean, that seems so much better suited for the far reaches of the Imperium. No multi-year journey just to get to the processing centers. Save time, and get more sanctioned psychers in the field!
Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)
And now presenting Bad Guys Mk. IV, now with more Marines than ever before!
Part 12: Fire and Iron
It was strange the rhythms life could fall into when you had a goal to focus upon. Along the adults chopped and planed and hammered together the boats that would carry them to war. In the forests, those whose turn it was to train with one of the thirteen phantom suits patrolled, practicing with the hellguns and the long las while hunting and keeping an eye on the horizons. A small girl with an oversized sword endlessly repeated the katas taught to her, the cycles of blocks, thrusts, and returns soaking into her muscles while she sweats out the weakness.
Above, on the side of the mountain near the entrance to the cavern of the ancestors, Kai and just about every other child from the village was working one way or another in the smithy Kaleb had established using tools built by the ancestors. Their training had been going quickly over the past two months, but mostly they had been making very simple things, primarily tools and steel arrowheads. They simply did not have the equipment to arm everyone with the best equipment, but steel arrowheads would slice through most armour they would encounter.
As one of the more advanced students, Kai was working on making a simple steel cuirass. Again, the quality was quite low, but that didn’t matter because the flint and obsidian arrowheads likely to be used would for the most part shatter against the armour.
Kai had fallen into a strange sync with everyone else at the smithy. The rise and fall of his hammer was timed with the patter of other hammers, the pump of the bellows, and even the breathing of his fellows. It was a peculiar sort of thing, but comforting nonetheless. It made Kai feel like he did that night that felt like a lifetime ago, made him feel like he was a part of something larger than himself.
For a time he was lulled in by the hypnotic effects of the almost musical rhythm, gazing at the glowing hot metal he was beating into shape. Eventually his gaze travelled further in, until he was in a world of forces and wave-functions, the individual atoms of the iron and carbon floating and dancing before him from the flame and the strike of his hammer. Soon he had their dance organized to the beat of the song of the smithy.
Blinking, Kai returned to himself and cursed. He was going to have to do more penitent meditation over that one. He could lose concentration over the slightest things at times!
Frowning, he looked at the cuirass. Something was wrong… no, not wrong… different. It looked… better was the best word to describe it. Picking it up, Kai examined it closely, and then gave a tiny tap with his hammer. The sculpted metal sang out with a pure yet strange low frequency tone.
The colour drained from Kai’s face. What had he done?
Taking the cuirass, he hurried into the cave to find Kaleb and see what he thought.
***
Far away, other fires of industry roared at full tilt, although instead of quite coordination to create a harmonious effort, this industry was built upon the crack of the whip and the wail of those suffering at the hands of their cruel new masters. There had existed slavery before, but this was on a scale and systemization never before seen.
And supervising it all was Latham the Grey, Sergeant of the Iron Warriors Chaos Space Marines Legion, for whom the beat of iron and the beat of flesh sounded equally sweet to his mechanical ears. The primitives here would worship him one day for all he was doing to raise them out of the mud, or they would worship him out of fear alone. They already worshipped Erroman and Argus, his divinity was only a matter of time.
“Brother Latham, how goes the work today?” Erroman growled while stalking up to his fellow Iron Warrior, his enormous bulk overshadowing even Latham.
“Well enough with these savages. The crucifixions yesterday appear to have encouraged them today,” Latham notes, pointing to the bodies- some of them still twitching with a semblance of life- scattered about the foundry fields.
“Good, because I need more chisels and hammers for the quarries,” Erroman demands.
“I thought you were harvesting most of the rock yourself,” Latham asks curiously, toying with his chainsword in a bored fashion.
“It goes a little faster if I have help, plus the sight of these lazy bastards lounging around while I was working annoyed me,” Erroman says with a shrug of his flesh encrusted armoured shoulders.
“True enough I suppose. How many have you eaten so far?” Latham inquires while writing down the new work order.
“Seven,” Erroman says.
“Oh? Dieting I see,” Latham notes.
“Yeah, got to get this figure back in shape so I can attract the ladies like that pervert Argus,” Erroman says, patting a huge, clawed hand on his belly, where a shape somewhat like a human face was frozen in an eternal scream carved from exposed muscle.
The two Iron Warriors, sergeant and Obliterator, both share a hearty laugh at that, although to the people toiling away beneath them, the sound is more like the cruel, mad barking of starving wild dogs, only much deeper and louder.
From across the hills a high pitched feminine scream rises into the air, followed by the loud, wet tear and crunch of ripping skin and breaking bones.
“Speak of the daemon it would seem,” Latham comments.
“So it would seem. Well, I best get back to work. Come by later to double check the kill zones and oil chutes,” Erroman says, stomping off.
“Don’t think I won’t,” Latham says in all seriousness. For Iron Warriors, there was no joking around when it came to fortifications.
A few minutes later, Argus showed up, drenched in blood and worse, a lopsided grin on his face, although Latham just glared at Argus every time the Emperor’s Child looked a little too hard at one of his workers. Finally the psychopath frowned and said, “They’re scrawny anyway…”
“Was there a point to this visit or were you just looking to get off again after you just raped to death another one of the slaves?” Latham asks impatiently.
“Point? No, no point really, I prefer curves anyway,” Argus replies, stumbling about in a somewhat drunken manner, which wasn’t far off considering that he was constantly intoxicated in some way or another. “Curves can cut, can slowly and ever so delicately peel back the skin. Truly delightful.”
“Then what do you want?” Latham asks, fingering his bolter in irritation. It probably wouldn’t help, except maybe for the purposes of stress relief.
“It’s that old witch again, wants to talk to you, talk to you about what her delicious daughters have been up to,” Argus explains.
“Don’t touch my workers while I’m gone, I’ve gone through a great deal of trouble teaching them what to do. And don’t touch any of the children we’re using as hostages for good behaviour. Breaking in new chiefs after you break the old ones is annoying,” Latham says.
“Too late,” Argus says musically just before taking a bolt pistol round to the side, splashing corrosive black ichor across the bare stone. He fell down in orgasmic laughter at that, his side already healing over the wound, his flesh hardening into tough leather as strong as the plate it replaced.
Stalking off, grumbling over the waste of ammunition, Latham makes a beeline for a small hut where the witch who was coordinating everything lived. Normally Latham wasn’t one to trust witchery over iron, but the planet was currently abundant in witchery and low in iron, so Latham wasn’t one to argue at the moment. Only through the old hag and her daughters were they able to coordinate in any meaningful fashion, a fact that Latham found deliciously ironic. Here he was on a campaign to claim this world for Chaos until someone got him off this backwater mud hole, and he was using a system remarkably similar, if infinitely smaller, to the Astropaths used by the Imperium.
Throwing back the curtain and entering into the smoky hut, tastefully decorated with dozens of human skulls, mummified monkeys and monkey parts, and garishly bright bird feathers. Inside was the withered crone Rossa, her dark skin having gone pale and liver spotted with age, but her eyes sharp and dangerous as coiled vipers. She was not a native of these parts, but apparently a witch chased from her home for being a threat to the community. Somehow Latham could believe that.
“You requested my presence?” Latham asks, annoyed that one could in any way interpret her as being capable of commanding him.
“Aye metal one, aye,” Rossa says, bobbing her head like a stork on her long, thin neck.
“And you wanted to talk why?” Latham continues, still annoyed.
“I ha fond out where dat pig Solomone got ‘is fool self and me daughter killed,” Rossa states, waving to the knuckle bones she has scattered about the floor.
“Oh? And this concerns us how?” Latham asks.
“Day done die on day one o’ day trip, more or less,” Rossa explains, her accent blending several of the words together into an annoying mess for Latham to try and understand.
“So?”
“Day hit a tiny village first!” Rossa cries. “Now, not only is it stronger den we thought, but day got all North and East tribes wit day self. Day gone sail for us soon.”
“So? Let them come,” Latham replies contemptuously.
“No good, no good! Day gone hit a fore you brute friend finish, an day got some tin dat can slay you. Strike first, a fore day come ere, a fore day come ere,” Rossa urges.
“Bah! Oh… might as well, we’re all getting bored here anyway,” Latham says dismissively.
“Take Tupa an ‘is tribe, day no fool like Solomone, and go to Ancestor Island. Strike now, a fore day make ready wit day ally,” Rossa urges.
“Fine old witch, fine,” Latham says, leaving the hut.
***
Far away, Kaleb finishes examining the cuirass with some of the instruments from Station Alpha One, and says, “It’s almost as strong as adamantium and weighs the same as normal steel… Kai, you say you did this with your powers?”
Swallowing fearfully, Kai nods and says, “Yes.”
Handing back the cuirass, Kaleb says, “Far be it from me to encourage witchcraft, but talk to Kansbar about this, and if he thinks its safe, include this sort of thing in your training. We need gear as good as we can get.”
“Okay…” Kai says nervously but somewhat more hopefully.
The day was looking up indeed!
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
. . . Whoa. Now if we could get some skilled psychers in the Imperium's forge worlds using that technique, imagine the quality improvements there would be. Or maybe, its an indicator of just how powerful a machine empath Kai is. Steel doesn't fail him indeed, not THAT grade of steel.
Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)
Actually, I believe that's a talent the Eldar also exploit to make their wraithbone/whatever other materials they use in construction much stronger than they would appear otherwise. Heh. Kai's got the makings of a bonesinger in him.
"There is a high statistical probability of death by gunshot. A punch to the face is also likely." - Legion
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
Note to self, remember the bonesinger thing for later.
Why?
No reason.
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
Whoo, Eldar foreshadowing! Ah, my guilty pleasure race in 40k. But you didn't hear me say that. No, there's no Eldar-sympathy to be found here in this staunch Imperialist. None whatsoever. Get that commissar away from me!
Mon-keigh.
*Runs away.*
"There is a high statistical probability of death by gunshot. A punch to the face is also likely." - Legion
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
Warning, grim darkness to follow, for in the future, there is only war.
And a bit of pie now and then, but no one ever talks about that.
Part 13: Night
The silence made a lie of the fear charging the atmosphere of the village as everyone was woken from their slumber by the urgent cries of the sentries rushing into camp.
“A great raid comes our way,” one of the faceless phantoms says breathlessly to the roused Kaleb.
“Numbers?” Kaleb asks while giving his equipment a pre-battle check.
“At least a hundred, but half of them beached on the other side of the island and are moving through the forest while the other half continues for the village. And there are Traitors with them,” one of the scouts reports.
“Throne,” Kaleb mutters darkly before saying, “Okay, phantoms with me at the village, everyone else retreat to the Cavern of the Ancestors. You can close the doors there and remain safe until the battle is decided. How many Traitors were there?”
One of the phantoms holds up his palms in a sign of confusion and says, “Two or three, we couldn’t be sure.”
Nodding, Kaleb says, “One probably went with the second group. No matter. Go now, all of you, before it is too late.”
There is little sound, little conversation. They had been drilling for this sort of thing for weeks now any many of the villagers had lived through raids before. Within minutes the village was abandoned except for thirteen ghosts and one brooding Terminator with more tricks up his well armoured sleeve than his foes would have anticipated.
A few minutes later, the first of the Western raiders began to appear at the edge of the pools of light cast by the small fires of the village. Orange light glinted off their stone and steel weapons, but fear shone in their eyes, fear for the things following behind.
Surveying the abandoned village, Latham growls in disgust before backhanding one of the scouts so hard the man’s spine hits a tree five metres away while his skull hits a different tree seven and a half metres away.
“I thought you said no one saw us, when clearly they did,” Latham growls at the cowering primitives.
“No matter, Argus and his sweep will catch them and then all we have to do is follow the screams,” Erroman rumbles.
Latham’s witty remark is cut short by Kaleb throwing off his disguise as a pile of rubble from a bonfire. A shallow pit about a metre deep helped add to the illusion, but now that illusion was shattered by Kaleb exploding out of cover, opening up with his storm bolter and rushing straight for the Obliterator. This was also the cue for the phantoms to reveal themselves.
It took but an instant for Latham and Erroman to react, although the masses of warriors milling about took significantly longer to figure out why they were dying by the dozen. Erroman immediately opened fire with his manifested weaponry, laying down a withering hail of unholy rounds that tore apart the huts and a good chunk of the forest, but bounced harmlessly off of Kaleb’s armour.
“Get into cover fools!” Latham cries out, firing his bolt pistol at a distortion in the air and being rewarded with a spray of blood as the phantom’s torso is blown apart.
Not needing additional encouragement, the warriors fall back into the jungle only for the brush cover to become a deathtrap when the phantom with the flamer sends a tongue of white hot flame into the trees, incinerating another dozen men in a single instant and sending the rest into a panic.
And then, like two railway trains, Kaleb and Erroman collided in melee combat. Latham actually had to watch in awe for an instant as the two hulking brutes did battle with dexterity that neither looked capable of. Daemon sorceries met the finest Imperial technology in a flurry of blows that shook the ground. Claws duelled with thunder hammer and the air rippled with clashing energies.
And then Latham came to his senses and continued firing his pistol while sheathing his chainsword and drawing his flame pistol. Hellgun rounds struck his armour repeatedly, creating tiny melt spots, but so far they had yet to injure him.
The fight was just beginning.
Kai saw the fires erupt from the village just as he reached the cavern entrance, which made a nice highlight to Peni’s father rushing back out of the cave, a look of anguish upon his face. Kai took one look at him, swore several times, and then said, “I’ll go get her.”
“But…” Peni’s father begins.
“Look, only two people have killed those things, and they consist solely of Kaleb and me. Go, I’ll get that idiot back before she does something we’ll all regret,” Kai says firmly before turning and running for the smithy.
A short way’s away, Peni was crouching in the shadows, chainsword shrouded to keep the moonlight from glinting off of its ferocious teeth. Bad memories bubble up in her mind, memories that Peni would not allow to be added on to.
A small group of three Westerners was approaching quietly and with death on their minds, thinking about the cost of failure, when Peni sprang. The first man was cleanly decapitated by the whirring blade, and the second was cut in half at the torso before he knew what was going on. The third managed to get his guard up, but all that really served to do was to make it so that his intestines were ripped out by the spinning teeth. For a few seconds he desperately tried to stuff them back into his belly before shock and blood loss caused him to collapse.
Knowing that she would have to keep moving to avoid being caught, Peni shrouds her weapon again and turns to run, only to stop dead in her tracks as she faces a garish monstrosity with no right being so stealthy in its brightly coloured armour. Clapping sarcastically, the thing grins madly, hunger drool running down the side of its face.
“You know, most people would look at you and think, ‘There’s a new recruit for Khorne right there’, and they might be half right, but I don’t think so,” Argus says, waving for the other warriors to continue on. They obey without questioning, not wanting to give their fates at the tender mercies of the monster issuing orders.
Trying to hold her sword up in a guard position despite the quaking of her limbs, Peni warns, “Stay back.”
Laughing psychotically, Argus says, “Stay back? Stay back? Ha! I can’t hold back anything, and now you ask me to stay back? Oh, that is rich as the blood of a maiden in full bloom.”
Licking his lips, Argus adds on, “Which incidentally you will be in a few years. Might just have to wait for that too, because I see in you something…”
“Stay back!” Peni screams, charging forward, only to have her strike effortlessly parried aside by a slap of Argus’ hand.
Licking the rapidly healing wound, Argus says, “Yes… that is what I was talking about. You draw blood not for some berserker ethic, but for yourself, to soothe the scars on your soul. Well Slaanesh is all about soothing and pleasing the soul.”
“No… no…” Peni says, backing away in fear.
“No? No? Do not insult me by lying little lady. I know the truth in your heart, know that one day you will fall down in worship beside me of our master,” Argus says while stalking forward.
“You lie… you lie…” Peni says, taking small, trembling steps, her sword no longer in any semblance of a guard position.
“Lie? Hardly, for you see, I have a friend that knows all your secrets,” Argus says, drawing the blade at his side, which bathes the jungle in a hellish blue light.
“Meet Falazgor, a gift from my master. He knows all, for you see, bound to this blade is a Keeper of Secrets. Let’s see what secrets of yours he reveals,” Argus says cruelly, licking his lips in anticipation.
“NO!” Peni shrieks frantically, but already she can hear the screams, the sounds she and her father had thought her to have been too young to remember. She drops her sword and begins to claw at the side of her head to try and get the sounds out of her head.
“Oh, listen to her moan, such delicious sounds, don’t you think? Your mother must have been an incredible whore to have made noises like that when they came for her. Oops, did I just make a pun?” Argus taunts sadistically.
“No… no…” Peni says while collapsing to the ground, sobbing.
“Quite the set of lungs on her, bet you inherited that from her too, just like her stubbornness. I mean, think about it, if she had left you behind, she would have been able to escape easily. Do you think you’ll cry out like that when a man puts his meat in you for the first time?” Argus says, now towering over her, the light from the sword clawing.
Cowering on the ground, curled up in a tiny ball, hands about her head, Peni can only mutter in horror and wet herself at the unholy terror now crouching down to run a clawed finger across her quaking face.
“So young and yet already into such perversions, how sweet,” Argus says, licking her tears, which causes her to vomit in disgust and terror. “You know, I can teach you how to transform all of this fear and pain into its true form of the ultimate, sublime pleasure. You know in your heart that’s what you crave above all.”
Argus was suddenly drawn out of his torture session by an adamantium arrowhead puncturing his armour along the shoulder. Rearing up in annoyance, Argus growls and says, “What impudence is this?”
Standing at the other end of the trail the confrontation was taking place on, body aflame with green witchfire, bow drawn back for another shot, Kai states slowly and deliberately, “Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. Her.”
“Oh ho! Looks like we have a little knight in shining armour here,” Argus says contemptuously. “Did you know that she wants to take that little thing dangling between your legs in her mouth?”
Sneering, Kai says, “We live in a tiny village, you can’t help but learn what adults do at night, and Peni loves me. Tell me something I don’t know.”
“The man you call Peni’s father helped kill her real parents, raped her mother, and then took her as a babe, running off into the wilderness,” Argus replies.
“He loves her now,” Kai says before releasing the bowstring. Just as his fingers cleared the string he poured energy into the bow and arrow, making every molecule within sing in harmony so that for just a brief moment the bow and arrow had strength greater than adamantium. For the briefest of moments Kai was holding onto a spring that could be used for heel support on a Titan. The bow exploded with the stress almost immediately afterward, but the Kai maintained his hold on the arrow for just a split second longer.
Argus was picked up by the impact of the hypersonic arrow and thrown a good ten metres back to smash into a large tree, leaving an imprint of shattered wood, before crumpling to the ground in a boneless flop.
Shaking out the numbness in his hands, Kai runs to the near catatonic Peni and begins shaking her, saying, “Come on Peni, we have to get out of here.”
“Yes you do you fucking piece of shit,” Argus notes as he uses a clawed hand to haul himself upright, the gaping hole in his chest regenerating before their terrified eyes.
“Oh. Fuck!” Kai cries out as he backs off, blood and spittle foaming from Argus’ lips as his bones crackle as they realign.
“You don’t get such niceties,” Argus taunts before launching himself forward at an impossible speed, the daemon sword Falazgor coming in on a low arc that catches Kai just beneath the ribs. With the screech and spark of metal on metal, Kai is picked up by the strike and tossed through the air.
“NO!” Peni howls, having found her courage again and striking Argus’ exposed back with her chainsword. The spinning teeth create a massive fountain of sparks, contrasting against the nightmarish blue light of the daemon blade.
Turning back to Peni, Argus says, “Now, now, don’t annoy me or I might have to reconsider teaching you the joys of Slaanesh.”
Pressing harder, Peni cries out, “Ave Imperator! Give me strength!”
Moving to casually swat aside Peni, Argus blinks from a flash of warm white light and the sudden disappearance of his right hand. Backing up and blocking furiously, it takes Argus several seconds to process the fact that he is retreating from an eight year old girl with a glowing chainsword who has somehow become a master swordsman.
Coughing up blood, Kai rises from the bushes, revealing the gouge in his cuirass where the daemon blade failed to penetrate, and hefts a large smith hammer, saying, “The spirit was willing, so I gave it strength.”
The daemon blade burned brightly in Kai’s mind, its sickly influence clawing at his mind, but it had also given him an idea. He could feel the fury of the machine spirit of the chainsword; feel its desire to fight for the master that had treated it properly for the first time in ten thousand years, to put to good use all the skills of its former master. So Kai awoke its fury, and for a time it would fight with all the skill of the great, evil but great, warrior that once held it.
Focusing all of his concentration, Kai then throws his mind into the edge of the chainsword. Every time one of the spinning teeth strikes against the foul, impure metal of the daemon blade, Kai lends it some of his power, so that the blade’s physical structure begins to ring like a bell, straining the sorceries holding it together.
And then Kai strikes the actual daemon blade with a physical attack of his own and a blade of raw psychic cutting power, just like he used on Uric all those months ago. Just brushing his mind against the bound form of the daemon sickens him, and the effort strains his body and mind to near the breaking point, but Kai succeeds. Falazgor shatters into a million tiny shards, and the sorceries flowing into Argus to keep him alive overload, blowing him back several metres.
This however let Falazgor the Keeper of Secrets go free into the Warp, with a tiny, inexperienced psyker waiting right nearby for possession. Kai wet himself as he saw in his mind’s eye the nightmare reaching out to rip his mind to shreds and take his body, killing everything he loved and cared about in an unholy orgy of slaughter.
In the Astral Plane, Falazgor misses Kai by a hairsbreadth before the miniature Warp storm generated by Station Alpha One hauls the daemon off. Struggling for a moment, the greater daemon sees what is coming and screams in terror for the first time in its long existence. Then it strikes the outer wall of the energy tap’s shredding system, and for the first time ever, a greater daemon is annihilated, all that it was obliterated from the universe for all time.
The psychic shockwave crossed the galaxy in seconds, causing Slaanesh worshippers everywhere to twitch for a second. And then the shock hit Slaanesh. Daemons’ could be banished. Daemons could be humiliated. Daemons could not die, especially not greater ones, practically extensions of their master’s will. For the Chaos god, it was like getting stabbed in the kidney and the pain was not something it liked, for a change. Slaanesh screamed.
Across the galaxy, every daemon of Slaanesh was spontaneously unsummoned. Champions screamed in agony that was not the exquisite feast they had come to know. People start exploding.
Seeing all of its plans coming apart, Slaanesh quickly initiates damage control and redirects its pain into one spot. Within the Eye of Terror, an Eldar Crone World turned non-stop orgy explodes, much to the surprise of the revellers and the Eldar Bonesingers there.
The god then goes to smash whatever had caused it pain, only to discover it has no idea what has just happened, and Tzeentch wouldn’t stop laughing long enough to tell what had happened. Not that the God of Change knew either, which was why it was laughing so hard, to cover up its own fear over what had happened.
On Terra, the Custodes spent ten years trying to figure out whether or not the sound they heard from the Golden Throne was a derisive snort, and what exactly it might mean if it had indeed existed. All branches of the Inquisition would spend centuries trying to figure out what had happened and why thousands of heretics and Dark Eldar had spontaneously exploded before giving up in frustration.
On a more local scale, the fight between Kaleb and Erroman, which had been raging for several minutes without stopping or slowing down, came to an abrupt end as everyone, psychic or no, doubled over in pain from the death scream of Falazgor. Erroman was particularly effect, the daemon that he had fused with to become and Obliterator wailing out in fear. Latham, with his extensive cybernetics, was the least affected.
Comparing his bolt pistol to Kaleb’s Terminator armour, Latham swears, grabs Erroman, and cries out, “Retreat!”
Blood streaming from his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears, Kai get up, and on shaking feet, he limps over to where Argus lies on the ground, his flesh unstable after that ordeal. Falling to his knees, Kai takes his hammer, and raising it up high, he slams it into Argus’ face. Marine bone is stronger than human bone, but Kai sees the blasphemous face as just another project needing to be hammered into shape.
Specifically a flat shape.
Eventually the body stops twitching, and Kai gets up to see Peni standing before him, quivering, the light from her sword faded away. She drops it and then just stands there crying, her tears mingling with the blood still oozing from the gouges she clawed from her temples to her cheeks. Walking up to her, Kai rests a hand on her shoulder, and then with the other backhands her.
“WHAT! THE! FUCK! WERE! YOU! THINKING?" Kai roars, each word punctuated by a furious slap. Eventually he starts crying too, and hugging her, they both cry as the remaining raiders slip away, not wanting to draw the attention of either one of such incredibly dangerous children.
Far away, where the village once stood, the sky is lit up by the inferno triggered by a flamer duel, and all Kaleb can do is hope that this night will have some meaning in the long run.
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
Slaanesh, god of pleasure, I laugh at your pain. "And lo, those Eldar who had remained true to their purpose, Exodite and Craftworlder alike, rejoiced at the grievous wound dealt to their ancient foe..."
Really, I do loathe Chaos and its weak-willed followers quite utterly, so seeing them brought so low just made my evening. You are now one of my favorite authors for daring to do what Games Workshop could not: actually causing physical/psychic harm to the gods of Chaos.
"There is a high statistical probability of death by gunshot. A punch to the face is also likely." - Legion
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
Yeah, it doesn't fit with this story, but I really liked the idea SirNitram was talking about awhile back that they should have the Eldar kill off Slaanesh once and for all and collapse the Eye of Terror, forcing Chaos to scramble for the Maelstrom while the Emperor's Children work at transforming Fulgrim into the new Slaanesh, and maybe bring back all the Primarchs officially listed as MIA rather than KIA so that you can have some absolutely awesome models and have Primarch v Primarch battles on the tabletop with their retinues dying like bacteria in a tank full of penicilin.
And yeah, I wrote that this was an installation built at the very peak of Dark Age of Technology, and that it was built to destroy daemons, so I'm writing the full consequences of such a thing. Of course, were anyone ever to truly appreciate this function, this tranquil garden world would have everyone in the galaxy piling on trying to get their hands on it, from Eldar to Necrons to Chaos to of course the Imperium, with the Orks probably noticing once things got going and jumping into the fray. The Tau can stay home and watch anime and get eaten by the winner. Would be a shame, such a nice planet too...
But right now, no one has any idea what the hell just happened, just that something strange happened. I expect the Farseers are saying something along the lines of:
Farseer: I think Slaanesh was injured for some reason.
Warlock: Hooray!
Farseer: Yes hooray, but uh... you know how we were going to let the forces of the Devourer slug it out with the mon-keigh on that one planet for a while and then stab the winner in the back?
Warlock: Yes...?
Farseer: You might want to recall the Rangers... oh, no, never mind, too late... recall everyone else though, cause I have no idea what's going to happen next
Warlock: Crap
Farseer: Yeah... kind of a good new, bad news sort of day
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
Short update today, a bridging chapter mostly until we get back to the action.
Part 14: War Councils
“How many did we lose?” Kaleb asks.
“Aku, Keola, Uku, Beni, Haoa, and Agata, mostly to the fight with the smaller Traitor, but Uku took an arrow to the leg and bled out,” Moana details.
Kaleb frowns at that. The phantom armour offered great protection, not least of which was the fact that it was quite difficult just hitting the target, and while they had a force field that could attenuate some effects, if an attack actually hit there was very little the armour could do to stop it.
“Their names shall go onto the list of those to be remembered,” Kaleb says solemnly. “And I don’t mean to sound crass, but the armour?”
“Two suits ruined beyond repair, three seriously damaged, and one with just a small arrow hole,” Moana says.
“And the rest of the villagers?” Kaleb asks.
“Afraid and distressed, but otherwise alright. Our homes were burned down and much of the forest we grew up surrounded by has been burned to the ground,” Moana says with a shrug.
“Okay, we’ll reallocate… err… give more time to the fabrication of the habs. The loss of the forest has hurt our food gathering capacities though, hasn’t it?” Kaleb says.
“Yes, we’re going to need to spend more time fishing… where the wonders of the ancestors don’t help us and the amount of food gathered vs. time spent was never as good as the forests,” Moana says grimly.
“Perfect. That means that either we attack now and starve later, wait several months and let those damn Iron Warriors dig in more than they already have, or we let our allies shoulder the brunt of the casualties. Any way we slice it, we have long term problems looming,” Kaleb states dourly.
“Well… the Southern tribes are going to war with or without us unless we tell them what they will be facing, seeing as the Traitors seem to have stayed within one area and not revealed themselves much outside of the Western Tribes,” Moana states.
“What are you suggesting?” Kaleb asks warily.
“Well… we could fail to mention this little disaster to the Southerners and bribe the Northerners with steel weaponry to follow despite our lack of commitment of numbers. I think they would follow you without such bribery anyway Kaleb. You impressed them with your surf riding skills,” Moana suggests.
“Are you suggesting that we let the Southerners shoulder the burden of the casualties?” Kaleb asks.
“Yes,” Moana replies.
“Okay, at least you’re honest about it. Now then, if we…”
***
“Okay witch, I’m not blaming you or anything…” Latham begins.
“Den why you got you gun to me head?” Rossa asks smugly.
“Because if you don’t give me an answer I like, blowing your head off will make me feel better about the cluster fuck that took up over two weeks of travel time, seventy warriors, and worst of all Argus. I might not have liked the perverted fuck, but at least he was better than every one of you scrawny ferals put together,” Latham replies casually.
“So ask you question,” Rossa says with a shrug.
“Are there any places like Ancestor Island, places where one can get ancient… magic? To use such an inaccurate word,” Latham asks.
“Aye. Two weeks sail to the southwest. But you big friend can not go, seas too rough for him,” Rossa says.
Latham pulls his bolt pistol away from the old witch’s head and says, “I can accept that, but if I’m going to be gone for a month, I had best find something of use…”
***
“Umm… Kai?” Peni’s voice asks, echoing into the small cave where Kai was brooding.
“Yes Peni?” Kai grumbles, still tired and in a bad mood from the night before.
“Can we talk?” She asks.
“I guess,” Kai says.
Clambering into the cave, Peni reveals the mass of swollen purple and blue flesh her face has become because of Kai’s vicious beating. Kai winces for a moment, before returning to his sullen pout.
“I’m not saying sorry,” Kai says.
“Yeah… my dad wasn’t exactly happy about it, but then again he was more pissed at me running off,” Peni admits. “But what I really wanted to do was come here to say I’m sorry for putting the both of us in so much danger…”
“You damn well better be!” Kai cries out.
“And… and… please don’t ever hit me like that again… but I think I also needed that,” Peni says.
A moment of silence descends before Kai finally says, “I think I went overboard.”
“No… I needed someone to remind me just how stupid I was being. Dad… dad has been a mess since… since…” Peni then breaks down crying.
Kai badly wanted to comfort Peni, but he forced himself to stay put and stay sullen. The destruction of the daemon had released a large quantity of raw emotion into the Warp, which was causing weird thoughts to run through Kai’s head, which was why he was hiding from everyone. Kansbar was doing the same.
Peni was crying, and Kai badly wanted to wrap his arm around her and say it was alright, just like he always did for his friend when it really mattered. But that damn daemon tormented her even in death by filling Kai’s mind with things that he barely understood, let alone want to do despite the seductive nature of such thoughts. It made him mad, and for just the briefest second he lost control, and a stalagmite abruptly no longer attached at the base, although it didn’t move anywhere because of gravity.
“I… I…” Peni mutters mournfully.
Sighing, Kai says, “Do you know what I find funny?”
“What?” Peni asks.
“That daemon, when he went to try and break me, he only threw your secrets at me,” Kai comments.
“Yeah…” Peni says.
“Guess that means the best way to get to me is to get to you,” Kai says.
“Yeah,” Peni says, somewhat more firmly.
“I mean, I went nuts on the last two guys that threatened you,” Kai points out.
“Yeah, you completely fucked them up,” Peni notes wryly.
“Yeah, so I guess when you threatened you by charging out there on your own, I kind of snapped,” Kai says.
“So… so you hit me because you love me?” Peni asks.
Frowning, Kai says, “That’s what Ami said every time Kauna got too deep into the beer. And look where that ended up.”
“Oh… yeah…” Peni says, her bad mood returning with a vengeance.
“I think what I’m trying to say is that I care for you, and you did something really stupid, so I did something stupid too,” Kai says.
“I suppose you don’t want me to fight anymore,” Peni says glumly.
“Hardly, that would just drive you, and thus me, insane,” Kai says a bit more brightly. “I would just prefer that you not charge out into the middle of the woods at night to take on a hundred grown men on your own while there are Traitors about.”
Finally smiling again, Peni says, “Yeah… yeah, last night taught me a lesson I won’t soon forget.”
“Yeah,” Kai says solemnly before continuing, “Speaking of lessons, could you get your sword for me sometime soon? I think I can do a few things with it…”
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
Apologies for the delay. For a 'filler' chapter, I must say that I like this one. Character development should never be neglected, and it's interesting to see these plots within plots as they develop. Using the southern tribes as unwilling meat shield in the coming wars? Emperor forbid it!
That damned Chaos filth better not get their hands on the archaeotech, or they'll be hell to pay...
EDIT: The Kai/Peni scenes have a hint of what you might call tragedy about them, in lieu of the fact that they're soon to be quite permanently sundered vis a vis the Black Ships. Nice work on that, as well.
"There is a high statistical probability of death by gunshot. A punch to the face is also likely." - Legion
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
Stupid cold... anyway, here you all go. I liked this chapter much better than the last.
Part 15: War Drums
For the people of Two Brothers Island, the early morning silence was broken not by the people rousing for the day, but by the distant sound of war drums, carrying over the water to their ears. For many, recently brought to this place by the edicts of the new masters of this land, the sound was a fearful one, heralding dark deeds to come.
For Erroman, Iron Warriors Obliterator, it just meant that soon he would get to indulge his bloodlust. Fortifications were prepared to his exacting standards, and soon the battlefield would ring out with the screams of the maimed and dying and stink of blood and offal.
On the small island that was the meeting point for the invading armies and point of origin for the drums, Kaleb frowned at the crude map spread out before him.
“What are our forces like?” Kaleb asks Moana as information between the various factions began to become clearer.
“Our own forces you already know. The Northerners sent about five hundred men from seven different tribes, while the Southerners have sent eight hundred men from twelve tribes. Cooperation will be the biggest problem,” Moana says.
Picking up a few of the whale bone pieces he had made, Kaleb begins to place them on the map.
“I presume that the Southerners will not want to follow directions? And that they are primarily going to wage this war like they always do,” Kaleb says.
“No and yes,” Moana states.
“Then let them take the brunt of the casualties by having them assault the main village area. Tell them whatever they want to hear, I just need them to pin down the main force while we deal with the Traitors. A single fully armoured Marine could be rout these forces, and that Obliterator could wipe us all out single handed,” Kaleb states.
“Word has it that there are large fields full of slaves and iron in that area. I’m sure the Southerners will want to get their hands on them,” Moana says with a smile.
“Perfect. Now, the Northerners will listen to us, but again, getting them to do what we want will be like pulling teeth,” Kaleb says as he begins to line up the figures for the Southerners.
“That is, again, unfortunately the case,” Moana says.
“Okay, then instead of just throwing them at the enemy, I want them to infiltrate the forests and act as a wall to keep the main force from trying to break out and encircle the Southerners. We need the hordes busy while he hit the Traitors,” Kaleb says, aligning more of the pieces. After a moment, he says, “And loathe as I am to ask it, what is the status of our witch corps?”
Watching Kaleb’s set-up intently, Kansbar says, “Three others came from our Eastern tribes, seven from the Northerners, and eighteen from the Southerners, although I doubt they’ll follow our lead anymore than their brothers will.”
“Eighteen?” Kaleb asks worriedly.
Shrugging, the old man says, “The lands even further south are notorious for their… lack of control over those with gifts. Many flee north to avoid the chaos. In fact, the crone Rossa hails from those lands.”
“Hmmm… well, unless something more serious comes up, the purgation of these southern lands sounds like our next campaign. But that is for another day. Tell me of this witch,” Kaleb says.
“Rossa did not flee because of the monstrous intent of her fellows; she was chased out by an angry mob for her wicked ways. She is brutally powerful and delights in the suffering of others, but cares little for positions of actual authority. She sired eight daughters, one of which we already killed with Solomone, through which she acts in her old age. They say that she uses the bones of her sons, eaten alive at birth for being male, as a powerful fetish through which she channels her blasphemies,” Kansbar explains.
“How will she come to play in this fight?” Kaleb asks.
“She and her daughters will surely take the field, but from well back, while the other witches under her command will shield them from counter-attack. Those of us who have been seeking the council of the spirits feel that there are… between fifteen and twenty enemy witches out there,” Kansbar says.
“Hmmm… so basically what you’re telling me is that we have them outnumbered, but that we can’t rely upon the majority of our psykers, so more or less we’re the ones outnumbered,” Kaleb asks.
“That sums it up, yes,” Kansbar says.
“I guess we’ll just treat the Southern witches the way we treat the Southern warriors… meat shields, although of course we won’t say anything like that to their faces. No, they shall take the glory of the first attack while we hold the sides in shame for our lack of numbers,” Kaleb says.
Moana blinks a few times and then says, “You’re surprisingly good at that.”
Shrugging, Kaleb says, “What can I say, I’ve been around Imperial Guard commanders. I know you might not understand that, but…” Kaleb finishes with another shrug.
“Moana!” A male voice cries out, and Moana rolls his eyes in exasperation.
“That would be Api again. If you’ll excuse me…” Moana says, getting up.
“No, I’m tired of that man’s bitching as well. Go get the phantoms and the raiders, I want to tell the man a few things,” Kaleb says.
Exiting the small ‘tent’, really just a large piece of cloth draped around a few trees to give some shade and privacy, Kaleb walks over to where Api, the de facto leader of the Southern coalition stands waiting angrily.
Glaring up at Kaleb, the brightly plumed man says, “I did not ask to see you freak, I asked to see Moana. We need to talk about the number of warriors he brought.”
Folding his arms contemptuously, Kaleb looks the man over before saying, “How many personal bodyguards do you have?”
“Are you threatening me?” Api asks, his eyes narrowing.
“No, it’s a reasonable question on the disposition of forces,” Kaleb asks, intentionally throwing in the Gothic term ‘disposition’ to annoy Api.
“Four,” Api says, practically spitting the word out.
Seeing that Moana has arrived with the elite trained and equipped with the best equipment available, Kaleb nods and then looks at one of the men of southern colours and asks, “You there, what do you do best?”
“What?” The young man asks.
“What is this madness?” Api asks.
“Just listen to him Api,” Moana says in exasperation.
Grumbling, Api nods to the Southerner, and the man says, “Mostly I fish.”
“Fish? Good. And you, what about you?” Kaleb says, pointing to another man.
“I’m good at pottery,” the man says.
“Fine trade. And you?” Kaleb asks of a third man.
“Flint knapping,” a third bewildered Southerner says.
“Ah, a fellow weapon maker, very good,” Kaleb says. He then turns his head to address the twenty-five men he brought with him and asks, “And what do you all do best?”
Snapping to attention as one, they all cry out, “WAR SIR!”
The effect is impressive, for the primitive warriors had never before seen discipline, and the cohesive shout, even from so few voices, carries the same power as hundreds of voices crying out in disharmony. Smiling, Kaleb turns back to Api and says, “I think that means I brought more warriors than you. So don’t bitch to me about our numbers, we’ll do the job we need to do.”
Turning away, Kaleb leaves Moana to deal with the now suitably cowed idiot. He has a battle to plan.
A few hours later and with all forces assembled and ready for disembarkation, Kaleb assembles those from Ancestor Island to him for a bit of a pre-battle speech, although a few other Easterners and Northerners, having heard of his oratory skills, join at the edge of the small gathering.
Splendidly bedecked out in full armour, purity seals made of local materials flapping faintly in the wind, Kaleb cuts a truly terrifying figure to those not used to him.
Gazing down at the assembled masses, Kaleb says, “Did I not say the day would come when evil would come to your homes? And was I not correct? Did they not threaten us? Did they not burn our homes to the ground? Were there not losses? And are we not here now to pay them back a billion-fold?”
As one, the phantoms in their archaeo-tech armour and the raiders in their cuirasses, all of them Warp hardened by Kai before leaving, call out in deep, wordless voices, their feelings on the issue.
“You brave few, who stand before me now, you shall lead the charge into the mouth of hell itself, and let all Traitors and those that side with them know that there is no cave dark enough, no hole deep enough for them to hide their wicked ways, no place safe for them to run after they have dealt injury to you. We shall assault the mouth of hell itself, and then drag the daemons that dwell within out into the light of day for the whole world to see them wetting themselves in fear of the Emperor’s finest. And then we shall lash them to the stake and let the flames purify their flesh while the Emperor rejects their souls,” Kaleb says with a feral grin.
Again, his soldiers bark their agreement, and again those around are taken aback.
“There is no more to say, you all know your roles. To the boats!” Kaleb says, and they move off for the boats that will take them to the enemy.
Within half an hour, the combined forces of three major tribal groups move upon the enemy island, war drums booming in the air as over a thousand warriors, an enormous number for this world, sail to meet another thousand. Impetuously, the Southern tribes begin to row faster and harder, their desire to get to grips with the hated Westerners drive them on ahead of the others.
Shaking his head, Kaleb says, “My only hope is that they die slowly enough to serve our purposes. Maintain current speed, we don’t want to exhaust ourselves before battle, now do we?”
Derisive chuckling comes from the men he has trained hard for months, and they maintain their steady pace.
Now in view of the island, they can see the numbers lined up, ready to repel the attacking forces. Unlike most battles before, these warriors wait behind numerous defensive shelters, shielding them from arrow barrages. Kaleb nods, expecting no less from Iron Warriors, before looking up at the feature that gave the island its name.
The Two Brothers Mountain, an enormous spire of volcanic rock, split almost all the way down the middle by some cataclysmic fissure thousands of years ago. Perhaps even the last act of defiance that reduced this world to its feral state. Kaleb took one look at it and knew that those he would have to fight would be holed up there somewhere.
The outriggers of the catamarans they built just for this task hitting the sandy shores, Kaleb says, “You know your tasks. To them!”
His first step driving his foot deep into the sand, Kaleb begins to tear up the beach as Northern and Eastern soldiers head towards the forests and the Southerners stream towards the waiting enemy. Already men begin dying in the first arrow barrages, mostly Southerners but a few Easterners caught out of their shelters.
Finding a small hillock, Kaleb observes the battle and frowns with dismay. The forces arrayed for the fight are not a third full strength that intelligence reports said they would be. That meant that the rest were hiding somewhere, either in reserve or as part of a trap, and seven hundred men was not something Kaleb liked to go unaccounted, especially not at these scales.
Then he saw it. The Westerners were inflicting brutal casualties on the Southerners, but were still in an untenable position. They would have to fall back, and when the Southerners followed to rout them…
Yes, that was the trap, but only part of it. While he wasn’t sure about the second part, the first part of the trap would play to Kaleb’s plans. When the Westerners turned to run, half of them would have to go through the forests and then circle around to escape, while the other half would run back through village, drawing the Southerners into the trap. Kaleb could see the Northerners moving up through the forests, ploughing through the pickets stationed there.
There… the Western lines had broken and now they were in full retreat… or rather that’s what they wanted the Southerners to think. And there went the Southerners, following the routed enemy to smash them and loot the village. And now half the Western forces were smashing full into the Northern position, not expecting so much of the enemy force to follow.
And now, like a well oiled steel trap, the trap snaps shut, two groups of three hundred men exploding out of cover to slam into the flanks of the Southerners. But there was a clog in the mechanism, for the hundred or so men expected to move through the forest were being slaughtered to a man by the Northerners. The Southerners began to flow backwards through the gap in the encirclement like paste being squeezed out of a tube.
And now it was Kaleb’s turn. His phantoms and raiders, having infiltrated forward, moving around the pickets instead of killing them, now opened up on the right flank of the Western position with four hellguns. The rear ranks disintegrated as dozens died and fear ran rampant through the primitive warriors, thinking it some sort of magic that was striking them.
So now the Westerners brought their own sorceries to the fight. Kansbar and his fellows had already moved up and were providing protection while those with the hellguns switched targets. Kaleb frowned though, for the Iron Warriors had yet to attack, and the witches arrayed his own forces looked nothing like the descriptions of Rossa or her daughters.
Which meant…?
An hour into the battle, Kaleb abandoned his position of observation and rushed out across the field of battle. He was the Hammer of the Emperor, and now he saw where the nail he needed to hit to make this whole battle hang together was. The Northerners would be the heroes of this whole affair, their stubborn drive to hang onto the area Kaleb had assigned them meaning that most of the Westerners fleeing the scene would smash against them and be unable to flee to stir up more trouble later.
But the Southerners, in their stupidity, had walked right into the trap set for them.
Those orchestrating the battle had expected Kaleb to bring advanced weaponry with him, and such power to completely smash whatever warriors were sent against them. The only ones who could stop Kaleb’s phantoms were the Traitors or the witches, targets Kaleb would smash into immediately, neutralizing their threat to the other forces until the fight was decided.
So the entire battle was a ruse to draw them into the killing fields. Against most Space Marines, it probably would have worked too. There would have been those in Kaleb’s own chapter that might have fallen for it, what with the Salamander’s tendency to get into the thick of things. But Kaleb was too canny for that, and had instead waited for the right moment.
That moment was now.
The Westerners were fleeing through their village, the civilians running in a panic before them, heading into the cleft where the mountains had split so long ago. The Southerners were chasing them, intent on rape and enslavement. They would pay for it with their lives, chasing those fleeing up the long switchback trail cut into the side of one of the ‘Brothers’.
Sorcery and heavy weapon fire swept the trails, blowing apart friend and foe alike. The Southerners died in droves as lightning and warp fire burn through them and bullets and las beams cut them apart. The Iron Warriors and the witches were stationed at the top of the mountain, on the other side of the cleft, where they had a clear view of everyone coming up the trail. They would have several minutes where they could attack and no response would be possible.
Reaching the base of the mountain where his forces were waiting in good order, having followed at a slower pace and stopped at the entrance to the cleft when the killing began Kaleb looks at the imposing obstacle and says, “This is going to take some work. Okay… Kansbar, I need you and your friends to engage those witches from here.”
Raising an eyebrow, Kansbar asks, “Are you sure that’s wise? They outnumber us and have all the advantages.”
Securing his helmet, Kaleb says, “I have a plan. Just make sure to kick up a shit storm okay?”
Shrugging, Kansbar moves to his fellows and they all begin focusing their powers and throwing out their own attacks up the side of the mountain. Retaliation is swift, but without fire support from the Iron Warriors, the shamans are not immediately cut down like their Southern brothers, and instead begin a cycle of attacking and defending, their strength slowly wearing out, but they could hold for quite some time.
Seeing it going according to plan, Kaleb activated the teleporter in his armour.
Entering the blackness of the Warp, Kaleb struggled to move against the currents kicked up by the distant energy tap. Normally it was unwise to try a teleport like this, even more so without a storm stirring up the Warp, but Kaleb was not going far, and the witches drawing on the power of this nightmare realm acted as an impromptu teleport beacon for him.
Kaleb popped back into being at the heart of the enemy formation. The surprise distracted the witches and three were instantly incinerated by attacks they would have otherwise blocked. And then Kaleb attacked.
They stood no chance. A single swipe of his hammer knocked three of the enemy psykers, two of them daughters of the leader Rossa, off the cliff, while controlled bursts from his storm bolter blew apart another five, leaving only the crone and two of her daughters left.
Kaleb stopped firing when he noticed that his bolts were exploding impotently against a shield erected by the two daughters working in concert while the crone witch used a fetish made of tiny human skulls to focus the power.
“You no match for me voodoo, no,” Rossa taunts, preparing a psychic attack to burn Kaleb away in one stroke.
Kaleb slammed his hammer down onto the ground.
The entire cliff shook, and the three women all lost their balance, disrupting their concentration for just a moment. Kaleb took that opportunity to body check them off the side of the cliff, although a Terminator slamming into an old woman was pretty much instant death as her old bones snapped like twigs. Her daughters on the other hand had a long time to scream their outrage and fear at their fate before splattering on the black volcanic rock below.
“Huh… should have seen that one coming,” Erroman comments as he steps out of the bunker he used as his firing position, the guns on his hands altering to become a variety of claws and blades.
Holstering his storm bolter and taking up a two handed stance with his hammer, Kaleb shrugs and says, “Didn’t exactly have any teleport scramblers available, now did you?”
“Could have told the skinny bitch not to be a fucking beacon,” Erroman says with a shrug as he prepares himself. Unlike the last battle, this one is by necessity straight back and forth, sheer rock wall on one side, a hundred metre drop on the other.
“Oh well, can’t expect witchcraft to prevail where steel is needed,” Kaleb comments, tensing for the perfect strike.
“On that note I have to agree with you Loyalist. Now to finish what we started before,” Erroman says.
“Agree,” Kaleb says before launching himself forward, dropping a massive overhand strike on the twisted creature. Its flesh ripples and buckles, but the enormous strike is insufficient to kill it, and the Obliterator strikes back, its claws gouging deep rents in Kaleb’s armour but failing to penetrate. Backing off, both combatants size up their wounds, and then strike again.
This continues several more times, both striking out and then retreating, waiting for either a lucky strike to get through or for the other to tire and be open to an easy strike.
After another brutal assault in which his armour is penetrated and blood drawn, Kaleb backs off significantly while Erroman advances somewhat.
“Tiring already weakling?” Erroman taunts, showing the blood on his claws.
Drawing his storm bolter, Kaleb says, “Actually I was just getting out of the line of fire of my men.”
“They’re not there,” Erroman says. “Do you honestly think my situational awareness is that bad?”
It’s at that point that the hellgun blasts start ripping apart the section of cliff where Erroman is standing and gouts of burning promethium lick up to stick to the channels cut by the laser bolts.
“I didn’t know they were there, I just knew how long it would take them to make it high enough up the trail to get into firing range to attack the cliff and take the shot like I trained them to,” Kaleb says, smiling beneath his mask.
Just before the entire section of cliff Erroman is standing on gives way, the Obliterator tries to attack again, only for Kaleb to thrust out with his hammer and stop the Iron Warrior from proceeding forward. A four ton section of cliff gives way, taking the Obliterator with it.
Looking out over the cliff, Kaleb chases a stream of bolts after the falling monster and cries out so that all can hear him, “Make sure he dies!”
Hitting bottom with an enormous clatter, Erroman is partially crushed by the burning boulder he was once standing on, his legs reduced to a twisted wreck by the impact and pinned in place. With bolter rounds and hellgun fire raining down on him, he bellows his rage and tries to get his guns up to an angle where he can fire back, but to no avail. After a full minute, he goes still, at which point the phantom with the flamer is close enough to hose the body with enough burning promethium to destroy a tank.
“Now to find the other one,” Kaleb mutters, reloading his storm bolter.
***
“My lord… my mother has fallen,” the witch assigned to Latham reports.
Latham considers this information for a moment before asking, “Erroman?”
“I don’t know, but he was near her at the time, so he is probably battling her killer now,” she reports.
Digesting this information, Latham nods and says, “Okay, go look in a mirror or whatever you do. If Erroman still lives, we return. If not, we take what we can, destroy the rest, and head some place far, far away where that bastard can’t get us until we’ve dug in properly.”
“It shall be so my lord,” the young woman says, bowing and turning away from Latham.
Running his hand across the smooth surface of the Chimera-type machine, Latham considers the possibilities.
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
Now, this was an awesome chapter. Lots of delicious, Chaos-crushing action. I think that I really, really like the way Kaleb handles future meat shields.
Blast it, though, why do the traitors always run away before the hammer of Imperial justice can smite them? How very like the vermin they are. At the very least, the western tribes have been suitably dealt with, and now they can (hopefully) consolidate the territory they now control before cleansing this world of the taint of Chaos.
By the way, exactly how much territory does Kaleb and his motley band of tribes control as of now?
"There is a high statistical probability of death by gunshot. A punch to the face is also likely." - Legion
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
The little shout-out to 300 was fun. I was hoping for Kaleb to wade through many more of the savages than he did, but I guess his restraint paid off. No Kai and Peni though, they weren't taken along with the war parties. Too bad. Would have been fun!
How exactly did Latham and Erroman gain Rossa's allegiances? She seems both strong and independent, yet so subservient and submissive in their presence.
I think I might be able to get another chapter done tomorrow and answer some of your questions. I am also considering a bit of a temporal jump for the chapter after that. Unfortunately, two things have slowed me down. One is a nasty cold that's had me flat on my ass for the past several days, and the other is the fact that Space Wolf: The First Omnibus arrived in the mail today. Good research, but this is going to suck up writing time like nothing else.
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
Another short bridging chapter before I totally screw with you all
Part 16: Aftermath
Kaleb was hovering somewhere between irked and pissed off. Four and half weeks travel time, round trip, and all he had to show for it was the fact that the STC the Traitors had looted and ransacked could probably be repaired one day and that with Kai’s help they might be able to recover the library and take it to Station Alpha One. That would require more weeks of travel though. Only constant litanies to the Emperor kept him from snapping at those that did not deserve it. Killing sharks with his bare hands had helped ease his aggression too.
But now he was back on the place that was… not quite his home for that would always be Nocturne, but something close to a home. The land was still scarred from the attack those months ago, but at least now it was not so bleak. Plasteel domes were rapidly being erected where the mud and thatch huts had once been. The blackness of the charred forest had turned green with new growth. Best of all, the people no longer had the look of the condemned about them.
“I guess from your look things did not go well?” Moana asked, coming up to greet Kaleb.
“No, they did not. The remaining Traitor found the sacred place, took what he could and burned the rest before fleeing like a coward. Fortunately, he only did enough damage that we cannot repair it with what we have on hand, although since he has no idea about Kai there may still be hope of stirring the spirits back to action,” Kaleb says.
“From your stories, one can see why flight is their first response,” Moana says derisively.
Chortling, Kaleb says, “Very true, although it is a pity they have just enough steel in their spines to spring back when you least expect them.”
“Then we shall just have to hit them back down like punch dolls!” Moana says, referencing the curious child’s toy these people made involving a wooden pole and rounded stone bottom, made so that while easy to knock down they would swing back up. They used them to teach their children the basics of fighting.
Laughing along with Moana, Kaleb then asks, “So how has the situation been while I was hunting cowards?”
Shrugging, Moana says, “Well and not well. The war has resulting in a drastic change in the balance of power. The Southerners and Westerners lost the majority of their fighting age males in the fighting. The Westerners have more or less given up, but the Southerners are making all sorts of racket considering how few losses the Northerners and us took.”
Thinking this over for a moment, Kaleb says, “Offer protection to anyone willing to tithe us food and shelter to anyone willing to work that we can afford to feed.”
Moana frowns and says, “Most of the Southerners are now women and children and…”
Smiling, Kaleb says, “Protection includes a quantity of the weaponry produced by our forges.”
“Surely not…” Moana says.
“No, not the weapons of the ancestors, not yet at least,” Kaleb says. He then smiles and says, “You would not believe the fits Imperial commanders would throw when we offered to arm refugees and have them guard the convoys in the safer areas. Most treat displaced people as nuisances, but every set of hands is a set that can be put to the Emperor’s work, so why waste His resources?”
Absorbing this, Moana says, “I think I see now…”
“Yes, I think you do. I am no petty warlord, seeking false glory in battle or a few slaves. Nor do I seek to conquer a single island, or even a few islands. I seek the conquest of the entire planet, the scouring of every last Traitor and heretic, and to turn the energies of its people towards the glories of the Emperor. Ten thousand forges will ring out every day across this world, building the weapons that warriors shall carry forth across the gulf of the stars, to drive all those who taint the heavens with their presence into the hells where they belong. To do that, a single village, no matter how skilled and proud its people, is not enough. I need an army. But an army needs food and weapons, so I need people to obtain the food and make the weapons. Were I to make a list of all the things I lack, people are at the top of that list, for every other lack can trace its source back to lack of people,” Kaleb says.
Nodding, Moana says, “Yes… yes, I can see it when you speak like that. But there will be difficulties…”
“Life is difficult. We either overcome or break,” Kaleb says with a dismissive shrug.
“True. I see the biggest difficulty being that many of the larger tribes will be angered if we have women doing what they consider men’s work, or visa versa,” Moana points out.
Smirking, Kaleb says, “I suggest to anyone who disputes our abuse of rigidly defined gender roles come here and have a chat with Peni. Speaking of which, how are those two?”
“Better since you told them to cheer up before you left. What were your exact words again?” Moana asks.
“Stop being so grim and dark or that’s all you’ll have in your futures,” Kaleb says, plucking the quote directly from his near photographic memory.
“Ah yes. Well, Kai seems to have taken that as a direct order and dragged Peni along with him. Last I saw they were organizing a game of smash ball with the other children,” Moana says.
“Excellent, excellent,” Kaleb says with a smile. It was good to see those kids acting like kids again. “Any other news?”
Frowning, Moana says in a hushed tone, “Yes, one bit. Kansbar and the other shamans seem to have uncovered some disturbing facts about Rossa and her involvement with the Traitors.”
Narrowing his eyes, Kaleb asks in a hushed tone, so as not to alarm anyone who might be in earshot, “What?”
“During the purge of her… fetish collection, they discovered several corpses bearing unholy marks. Marks that caused their bearers to twist into strange forms before dying. And they claim that the fresher corpses were… looking like they lived longer before expiring,” Moana whispers.
Kaleb shuddered inside but did not show it. One of his darkest memories was assaulting a hive recently taken by Chaos and interrupting a dark ritual where innocents were hauled screaming to an altar to be branded with marks of Chaos, their bodies and souls stolen from them to create more bodies to throw at the Imperium. Such things were not easy, and it took forbidden knowledge that the old witch would not have stumbled upon, especially on world where daemons had such difficulty existing. Someone must have told her about such things. Someone with sorceries the Emperor’s Child did not have and the Iron Warriors eschewed.
“They say she was a telepath… err… mind talker, of considerable skill?” Kaleb asked.
“You came to the same conclusion Kansbar did. That she was communicating with another Traitor far away. Those other ones were probably just pawns to her, a means to an end,” Moana says, relaying Kansbar’s message.
Frowning, Kaleb says, “Explains why the second Iron Warrior left such an easily fortified position instead of setting up camp. He took his ill-gotten gains off to where he knew he had more allies waiting.”
“That does not bode well,” Moana says.
“No. But evil omens have yet to stop me, and they're not about to start now,” Kaleb says, fire in his eyes and plans in his mind.
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
Great. Does this mean that there are even more loathsome devotees of the Ruinous Powers for Kaleb and his motley tribesman to smite? Is there no end to the legions of the traitors and sadists who've infected this world? At least Rossa the arch-heretic is dead... right? (I only ask because the damn followers of the Ruinous Powers have the most irritating tendency to not stay dead.)
Anyway, for a 'filler' chapter, I really like this one. It was certainly an elegant way to answer our questions without, er, answering them directly. If that makes any sense.
So, when shall we get to see more smiting of the heretics and traitors? I so desperately want to use Harlequin's Kiss on that Iron Warrior who defiled the holy standard template constructor...
The comment about "screwing with you all" worries me. Immensely.
"There is a high statistical probability of death by gunshot. A punch to the face is also likely." - Legion
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
Part 7 Wrote wrote:Twenty-two Traitor Marines scattered across a planet with a more or less defenceless population ready for conquest, with five STCs as the prize and…
So with two dead since then, that means that yes, yes there are more traitors out there.
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
Ah, I was multitasking at the time, and that sentence didn't quite come out right -- what I meant to inquire after was whether there were traitors from a different Legion out there, not merely if there were more Chaos-loving fools in general still up to their nefarious schemes -- a superfluous question now, as it seems to have been rather heavily implied that this is so. Again, my apologies for the confusion.
"There is a high statistical probability of death by gunshot. A punch to the face is also likely." - Legion
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
He's a Salamander Terminator, with a mini-Psyker and a girl with a Chainsword. He could do this with one hand tied behind his back. With both hands, he's gonna save the world. Although his advice to the kids made me LOL.
By the way, I remembered some data about Hawaii that said the farming there supported somthing like 500 people per square mile thanks to intensive terricing and the crops that were grown. Since the local conditions were based on these 'mythical' lands, are they capable of supporting such high population densities?
Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)
While I didn't know just how dense Hawaii was, the answer to your question Vehrec is...
Yes and no.
Basically, the original engineers of the planet never intended for it to degenerate quite like this, and thus their plans to isolate human social development from industrialism has meant that after everything blew up due to the eldar not thinking their hedonistic lifestyles through very well, there are some obstacles to locally developing the sort of intensive agriculture of that sort.
The first is that the environment was tailored to be the mythical tropical paradise and that food production would be similar to pre-agrarian methods, only with genetically modified species to ensure overabundance, and advance technology to ensure ease of hunting and gathering to leave plenty of leisure time. Unfortunately, after 10+ thousand years of running wild and a global catastrophe, the ecology has shifted. This means that while there is plenty of food, very few species are good for domestication, which is obviously problematic.
The second problem is that the people are in a sort of high level equilibrium trap. Food production is sufficiently high that few in a hunter-gatherer society are in danger of starving, but hunter-gatherers carefully maintain population growth the way agrarian societies don't. Intra and intertribal violence cancels out long term population growth. Thus, there is no incentive to move to agriculture, which while capable of supporting significantly higher populations, is also more difficult and causes a net per capita reduction of caloric intake.
Thus while the environment is easily capable of supporting high population densities, entry level costs are sufficiently high that the intensive agriculture required to support such populations is not possible. Even if a genius were to figure out the math (a post-agricultural invention) and that they could possess a larger population and thus smash their rivals if they started doing something differently, the food supply and social disruption during the switch-over would weaken them to the point that rivals that remained hunter-gatherers would simply steamroll them before they could pull ahead. The only way for such innovation to succeed is if all tribes in a local area are suffering from food supply disruption, ie. during the ecological collapse that occurred at the end of the last Ice Age here on Earth in places like the Fertile Crescent.
Plus there is the fact that the area where the story takes place is a bit of the ass end of the planet seeing as it has an Alpha Station and Gamma Station within a few hundred kilometres of one another, and the original designers intended for major population centres to not be close to major industrial centres.
Or to sum up: the original engineers forgot to ask, "Hey, what if we're cut off from the outside galaxy before the project is completed and those still left behind go stir crazy and blow everything up?"
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)
"And lo, those Eldar who had remained true to their purpose, Exodite and Craftworlder alike, rejoiced at the grievous wound dealt to their ancient foe..."
